


Service for Cause

by FettsOnTop (GTFF)



Series: I ship Boba Fett with (insert name here) [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Choking, Collars, Dom/sub, Glove Kink, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Leather Daddy Vader, Leather Kink, M/M, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTFF/pseuds/FettsOnTop
Summary: For this he risked everything, including his own life, by placing himself in the black gloved hands of a sith lord.This is an Alternate Smut Ending to the Boba Fett/Darth Vader chapter in the "I ship Boba Fett with (insert name here)" collection.





	Service for Cause

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I ship Boba Fett with (insert name here)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617453) by [FettsOnTop (GTFF)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTFF/pseuds/FettsOnTop). 



“Why are they here?”

Two stormtroopers stepped in front of him, blocking his path. It wasn’t a question of whether he could get past them, but a question of whether he should. What kind of mood was Vader in today?

“Leave us,” the sith lord commanded, and Boba could almost smell their sweaty relief through their armor. The troopers left, leaving him alone in a sterile imperial office with Darth Vader.

“You always come to me first,” Boba continued, holding his ground as the sith moved toward him. “You don’t need a bunch of fumbling idiots spooking Solo and driving him underground. I’ll find the _Millennium Falcon_ and you’ll get them alive.”

“Will I?” Vader didn’t stop until they were barely an arm’s width apart, looming over Boba like a dark shadow. “I find myself less certain of your restraint these days.”

“If you trust me, you trust my methods,” Boba growled. “I know when restraint is needed and I know when it’s not.”

“I would like to believe that.” Vader raised his hand, a gesture that produced the same chill in his blood as every other being, but he didn’t move. He watched that black-gloved hand from behind his visor as it came in and then fought the urge to swallow when it settled at his throat.

The span of the hand was impressive on it’s own. Vader’s fingers wrapped around Boba’s neck in a way that made him feel uncomfortably fragile, but they didn’t squeeze. The sith lord said nothing, the only sound in the room was the rasp of his breathing through his respirator as his hand moved down and spread over Boba’s breastplate.

Then it went lower. If Boba looked down, he would be able to see long, black-clad fingers against his stomach, but he didn’t look down. He kept his attention on the oblique black mask in front of him.

At least he could swallow now, without drawing Vader’s attention to it. Without looking weak. Or eager.

His hand lifted as it bypassed his belt, and returned to cover the curved piece of duraplast protecting his groin. “Your restraint,” Vader said slowly, his words labored. “Will not be needed right now.”

Oh. _That_ kind of mood.

“Maybe you’d like to bring Dengar and Zuckuss in first.” He offered snidely. “Since I’m no longer good enough for you.”

Smooth, gloved fingers curled under the edge of his codpiece. “Is that what you want?” The dark lord’s deep voice rumbled through the audio ports of his mask, followed by a long hiss. “An audience?”

Sweat prickled along the back of his neck as the air solidified around him, not pushing or pressing, but rendering him immobile just the same. The force was a real bastard. Unless you were sensitive to it, you couldn’t feel it until it was too late.

Long fingers intruded further between his legs, unhooking his groin armor. It floated away, borne by the force above Vader’s desk, where it dropped abruptly onto a pile of flimsy. “Answer me,” the sith commanded.

Beneath his helmet, Boba’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “As you wish.” He said exactly the way he’d said it on the bridge only minutes ago, when Vader reprimanded him in front of the other hunters.

“Arrogance,” the dark lord hissed, bringing his hand back up to Boba’s throat, “will not serve you in here.” There was a click as his jetpack detached from his back and was lifted aside. “I see I must remind you of your place.” Before Vader had even finished talking Boba found himself turned around and pressed face-first into the wall, his hands spread on the unyielding surface. The invisible pressure of the force lessened, only to be replaced by the sith at his back.

Boba closed his eyes and let himself be submerged in the surge of adrenaline that sent his pulse racing. Not once in his thirty-five years had he ever gotten high on spice, or drank a drop of alcohol, or gambled on a single game. The thrills that drove other beings to obsession and often brought them into his rifle's sights were foreign to him.

Until this. For this he risked everything, including his own life, by placing himself in the black gloved hands of a sith lord. He pressed the dome of his helmet against the wall as Vader began to remove the armor and weapons from his body. He didn’t use the force for this. He did it with his own hands, piece by piece. As he did it the smooth leather of his gloves ran across Boba’s back and down his arms and sides.

He’d ordered a pair of gloves just like them, or as near as he could find. Sometimes while he was wearing them he sucked on his fingers, letting the small and taste of soft leather fill his senses. Then he touched himself, wet leather wrapped around his cock until he was right on the edge. It was good but a poor substitute for this, when the supple black leather was animated by the size and strength of Vader’s hands.

The dark lord’s arm crossed his waist, the hard ridges of his armor pressing into Boba from behind. He removed Boba’s belt and palmed his stiffening cock through his flight suit, drawing a shudder from the bounty hunter. He didn’t have to do anything. There would be no sloppy kisses, no obligatory eye contact. He wouldn’t even have to remove his helmet.

Boba had tried, in his younger days, to form sexual partnerships the way others did, but his sheltered upbringing on Kamino gave him few references and his life after Kamino yielded only bad ones. There was one man in particular he still thought of, and not fondly, when he gave himself a shot every forty-five days to combat the symptoms of a venereal disease.

Even in better circumstances, it never felt comfortable or safe. Vulnerability, he’d decided, was not his thing. Of course, to put himself in such a vulnerable position with someone as powerful as Darth Vader, who could kill him in a second without any recourse or consequence was not exactly without risk. Sith were just as treacherous as Jedi, but at least a sith could generally be counted on not to hide their corruption behind a brown robe and a kindly smile.

His thoughts were interrupted - more than interrupted, cut right the _kriff_ off at the knees - by the cool touch of Vader’s glove on his naked throat. His armor was gone now, his flight suit opened in the front. The sith’s fingers grazed over his hammering pulse and then abruptly stopped. “What is this.”

Oh, _that_.

Boba had sort of forgotten about that. The last few times he was in the dark lord’s presence, Vader wasn’t in this kind of mood. “What’s it look like?”

“You…”

He never felt any real inclination to know what was beneath Vader’s mask, but _kriff_ if he didn’t wish he could see his face now. Instead he listened to the rasp of the sith’s breathing as leather fingers spanned his throat, exploring the dark band that was now inked into his skin.

“This is...permanent?”

“I told you. Wearing a collar is a _fekking_ liability. Could get caught on something-” Vader’s fingers tightened, and the lack of oxygen made his vision swim and his cock even harder. When Vader finally released him, a ragged laugh slipped out between his gasping breaths. “Thought you might like that.”

“It is...fitting.” Strong hands pulled at his suit, baring his skin to the cooler air. The hand that ran down the middle of his naked back was cold too. Colder than human flesh would be, even through a glove. It had a purpose. Vader’s suit. The armored shell. The respirator. Whatever happened to him, whatever his condition was, it kept him alive.

His large hands closed possessively over Boba’s hips, one warmer than the other as he pushed his flightsuit down. Boba never saw the need for undershorts. His suit had a wicking liner, why bother with anything else? Some noise escaped the respirator behind him, something that might have been a moan. One gloved hand spread over the curve of his ass and the other wrapped around Boba’s aching erection.

“I am tempted to take you here, against the wall. Just as I did the first time."

"I remember. Thought you were never going to fuck me."

"And you were wrong.” Vader planted his feet between his, forcing his legs as far apart as the suit caught around his knees would allow. Boba groaned and pushed his cock into the smooth circle of Vader’s fist. It would be easy to come just like this, thrusting against silky leather. But easy never satisfied Boba Fett.

There was a rustling noise, and then wet leather fingertips brushed the back of his scrotum and pressed against his anus. The sith’s other hand tightened on his cock, denying him the ability to even squirm as he was penetrated. Between the rasping breaths from Vader’s respirator he could hear, or maybe not hear as much as feel, the dark lord’s command to breathe. And he did. In and out, in and out, his mind blissfully clear of everything except that simple directive and the pressure of those fingers inside of him.

When at last they withdrew, they were quickly replaced by a small, slick orb pressed into him. The shell of the capsule would be gradually be dissolved by his body heat, leaving behind enough lubrication for the task ahead. When a second capsule followed the first, Boba’s knees weakened dangerously.

What, exactly, Vader fucked him with was still a mystery. Even with the 360 scope of his helmet he never got a good look. Some kind of prosthetic device, maybe as simple as a strap-on. Two things he could say with certainty, Vader’s condition left him with some form of genitalia capable of ejaculation, and the instruments he used to reach that goal varied significantly in size.

The weight of the sith lord left his back abruptly, but his hand stayed, caressing and squeezing the curve of his buttock. That was where the first blow fell, where it didn’t really hurt but where leather against naked flesh made the loudest noise. The sound and suddenness of it made Boba jerk. He was excruciatingly aware of the capsules inside of him as his body tightened reflexively, bracing for the next slap.

Vader struck him twice more in the same spot before pausing a moment to rub his stinging cheek. Then just when his body was beginning to relax he struck the opposite cheek with the same force. He was really _fekking_ good at that. Boba wondered sometimes, where and how he’d learned it. Who taught it to him. Every subsequent smack hurt a little more, right up to the point where pain crossed pleasure and that was when his touch turned soothing again.

Cool fingers slipped between his cheeks and entered him again. Boba wanted nothing as much as he wanted to take his aching cock in his own hand and finish right there on the wall, and his climbing desire must have been apparent to the sith lord. “Do not move your hands,” Vader warned him, his voice low. He twisted his fingers inside of of Boba. “But _move_.”

Boba swallowed hard, trying to master the impulse to whimper. Or beg. He shifted his stance so he could draw up a little, fucking himself on the dark lord’s fingers. His cock throbbed, his ass burned and he was still dangerously close to coming.

“I promised you,” Vader said, his breathing even more more labored than usual, “that I would remind you of your place.” He withdrew his hand suddenly and retreated, his footsteps quick on the floor. “Go to the desk.”

Boba swiftly grabbed his suit where it hung around his knees and pulled it up just enough to make walking over to the desk possible, if a little awkward. His groin armor still lay on the desk, surrounded by data cards and flimsy.

“Show me,” the sith commanded. “Show me where you belong.”

Boba inhaled slowly before he put his hands flat on the desk’s surface and bent at the waist. He felt wetness on his thighs, traces of lubricant seeping out of him as the capsules fully dissolved. He closed his eyes behind his helmet and felt Vader’s silent approval. It felt like safety. It felt like…

“Yes. This is where you belong. This is how you serve me.”

A cool leather palm touched his overheated skin, following the curve of his ass up to the middle of his back. Vader’s hand spread over the back of his helmet, a steadying touch as something cold and smooth slid between his cheeks. Oh, _kriff_ , that was a big one. Vader rubbed it against his skin, taunting him with the size of the round head. Boba tried to memorize every detail about the shape and texture, so he could find it later. Not to use, but to look at. To remember. The air seemed to thicken around him as Vader leaned forward and pressed the firm tip against his sphincter. “Be still,” the dark lord commanded. “You must take all of it.”

The last word had barely rumbled from his mask before he was pressing in, stretching Boba open at a dangerous rate. It hurt the way it did when Vader struck him, enough to jar his senses but not enough to lift the haze of arousal. A hungry whine caught and burned his throat as the sith mercilessly invaded him further.

_Breathe._

The broadest part passed his sphincter, leaving him impaled and clenching helplessly as Vader rocked the instrument inside of him. Boba wasn’t breathing so much as gasping now, but even in this heated moment, his curiosity made him want to reach back and wrap his hand around the monstrous phallus. He wondered if his hand would even fit around it.

His right hand lifted off the desk, but was forced to return almost immediately when Vader thrust into him hard enough that his heels left the floor and then again before he could recover. He could feel soft leather and smooth armor against the curve of his ass and the sith’s artificial cock was now so deep in him he couldn’t move if he wanted to. Vader let out a satisfied hiss.

“Bastard,” Boba rasped in reply.

“Yes,” Vader agreed.

Black leather fingers, slick with lubricant, wrapped around his cock and Boba decided to forgive him. The dark lord pulled back just enough, the flex of his hips in perfect synchronisation with his grip. “You have served me well,” he said, his voice heavy and his words labored.

Boba repositioned his hands on the desk and groaned. “I’m about to _kriff_ up that pile of papers.”

“Do it.” Vader’s hand moved faster on his cock. “Now.”

“Nghh. Need your…”

Strong fingers wrapped around his throat again, spanning over his tattoo. This, too, was something Vader did exactly right. Just enough pressure. Just enough to make it burn a little when he breathed. Everything compressed into a tight ball of fire, contained in that black leather grip.

“Let go,” Vader ordered, and he did, releasing in spurts across the flimsy and his groin armor. The sith removed his hand from Boba’s throat, and a second later pulled out of him, leaving him hollow, his head still spinning. Boba sucked in air in great gulps, his shaking arms barely keeping him above mess he’d made on the desk.

There came a rasping, almost painful noise from behind the dark lord’s mask, a few muttered words mingled with grunting as he ejaculated on Boba’s naked backside. That was always how he finished. Once or twice Boba thought he might broach the subject of working around Vader’s disfigurement in a different way, but in the moment it always felt too raw and awkward.

Vulnerability. Not his thing. Maybe it wasn’t Vader’s either.

His breathing slowly settled as sweat cooled on his skin. Warm cum was dripping down the backs of his thighs, but Boba stayed. He wasn’t allowed to move from his place until told. In the beginning, he was held in place by the force, but Vader seemed to feel that was unnecessary now. Once the sith lord had time to compose himself, to clean and put away his instruments, only then would he be permitted to move.

A warm cloth ran up the back of his leg and he exhaled and shifted a little as the sith cleaned him off. Between the soothing motion and the adrenaline drop after his orgasm, Boba felt almost sleepy.

“I need you to stay sharp,” the dark lord rumbled. “The _Millennium Falcon_ cannot be allowed to escape again.”

Boba let out a rough half-chuckle. “I’m not your Imperial slugs. I learned how to fly in an asteroid field. I know every trick there is-”

The warm cloth stilled. “You have thought of something.”

“Might not be anything.” The only sound was the sith breathing behind him. “I don’t get paid unless I’m the one the finds them,” he reminded Vader tersely. The sith lord continued his work in silence. Boba wondered sometimes if the reason he did this was less related to intimacy and more to caution. Leave no trace behind.

“You may rise now.” The words were quick. Clipped.

Boba pushed off the desk. One of the cum-stained sheets of flimsy was stuck to his thigh. He held out his hand for the cloth and Vader tossed it to him. The dark lord was now standing at a distance, watching silently as Boba cleaned off his leg and his groin armor.

His father _had_ taught him to fly in an asteroid field, Jango Fett’s navigation skills were legendary. But he couldn’t think about asteroid fields without remembering the trip to Geonosis, and how Kenobi managed to escape their grasp by mimicking space debris.

Could Solo have managed something similar to hide from the Imperial radar? As he began to replace the armored pieces his thoughts turned to what Jango might think about his proximity to Darth Vader. It wasn’t as if Jango never had his own liaisons, but it was one thing to seek out a bit of release and another to repeatedly _kriff_ a client.

What he held onto to as permission was nothing more than a fragile scrap of a memory, a laughable fragment completely divorced from context. It contained the tall, sloping shadow Count Dooku cast on the sandy floor when he walked, his long cloak sweeping behind him. He spoke briefly with Jango, and Boba had no memory of what their conversation was about. What he remembered was the sith saying “thank you, my friend…” before he placed his hand on Jango’s shoulder.

But his hand went too high, almost as if the original aim of his hand was for Jango’s cheek, not his shoulder. Boba knew in that moment, the way children do, when grown-ups are very aware of their presence. When things are left unsaid.

He would likely never know the answer to that riddle. But he thought that maybe there was a chance that his dad would understand his attraction, even if he disapproved of his lack of restraint. As he refastened his belt Boba glanced over Vader, watching him silently. Still as a statue. 

“As soon as I have the _Falcon_ in my sights, you’ll be the first to know.”

For a second, there was only the sound of rasping breathing. Then the dark lord spoke. “Do not. Fail me.”

It could have sounded threatening. It _did_ sound threatening, but Boba also heard the plea in his words. Whatever or whoever Solo was smuggling this time was important to Vader. _Very_ important. 

_I want them alive._

“No disintegrations,” Boba growled. “You have my word.”


End file.
